Page 9 of Broken Vows

“Morning cheery!” I say.

“Hey girl! Did you draw anything new?” she gives me a stern look.

Shaking my head, I let out a sigh. “Nope. Blank canvas is mocking me, though.”

Lilly leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, her eyes soft but insistent. “Seriously, Lex, talk to him. It’s not just work, and you know it. You can’t just sit here and let your thoughts run wild without knowing for sure.”

I take a sip of my Frappuccino, feeling the chill of the ice hit my teeth. “I know, but… what if I’m wrong? What if I’m just making things up in my head because I’m stressed?”

She tilts her head and gives me that knowing look—the one that always makes me feel like she can see right through me. “Are you though? You’ve been married to him for five years. You know when something’s off. And if you’re wrong, great! But at least you’ll know.”

I stare out the window, watching as people pass by with their coffee cups and briefcases, rushing to start their days. Everything outside feels so normal, like life keeps moving at full speed while I’m stuck in some slow-motion haze. “It just feels like… if I confront him and I’m right, everything will fall apart. Again.”

I shake my head slowly. No, I don’t want to live like this. Over time, the gap between Jeremy and me has started to grow. I’m so used to him being my rock, the one who was there through everything with my mom, but now… it’s like I don’t even know who he is anymore. Or maybe I’m just scared of who he’s become.

She takes a sip of her coffee, eyeing me over the rim of her cup. “When was the last time you really talked to him? Not just the ‘how was your day’ stuff, but really talked?”

I pause, a knot of tension in my stomach struggling to remember. I can’t pinpoint the last time we had an actual conversation, one where we weren’t just talking about work or errands or what to have for dinner. It’s like we’ve fallen into this routine where we exist together but don’t really see each other anymore. “I don’t know. It’s been… a while.”

She sighs, leaning back in her chair. “That’s not good, Lex. You need to talk to him. Before it’s too late.”

“Too late?” The words send a jolt through me, and I feel a pit forming in my stomach. “You think it’s already over, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “But I do think if you don’t deal with this now, it’s going to fester. And that’s when things really start falling apart.”

I nod, knowing she’s right. But the thought of actually confronting Jeremy, of asking him if there’s more going on than just work stress, makes me feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. One wrong move, and everything could come crashing down.

She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Take your time, but don’t wait too long. You deserve answers, Lex. And you deserve peace.”

After we finish our coffees, we part ways with promises to check in later. But as I walk back to my car, the weight of our conversation lingers. I keep replaying it in my head, wondering if I’m ready to hear whatever he might have to say. What if he’s not the man I thought he was? What if this entire marriage has been built on something fragile, something that could break at any moment?

Or, what if I’m just so lost and insecure from this relationship that I ruin it by asking if there is something else. Someone else…

Back home, I stand in the middle of my office, staring at the blank canvas sitting in the corner. I’ve been trying to throw myself into my art. Sometimes it works and I’m able to draw. And sometimes, it doesn’t. I’m so focused on how we are doing that I can’t even create.

I sigh, picking up a paintbrush and dip it into some paint, my mind whirling with thoughts I can’t quite put into words. The brush strokes are messy, reflecting the jumble of emotions inside me.

I’m angry. I’m scared. I’m lost.

The painting is abstract, a swirl of colors that don’t really make sense together but somehow convey exactly what I’m feeling. As the hours pass, I lose myself, each stroke of the brush pulling me further away from reality.

When the painting is done, I step back and examine it. It’s not my best work, but it’s raw, and in some strange way, it feels like a reflection of my life right now. Chaotic. Uncertain. On the verge of something breaking.

I wipe my hands on an old rag and sit down on the floor, staring up at the painting. It’s strange how something so abstract can feel so personal.

Chapter Seven

I pullmy phone from my pocket, checking it again for any sign of a message. Nothing. My fingers hover over the screen as I debate sending another text. He’s late. Maybe he got held up with a power line. But it’s been over an hour now.

I glance at the clock, then at the table, where two plates sit ready, food steaming and untouched. The sound of the oven timer ticking echoes in the quiet, making the room feel more empty than it should.

I’ve been looking forward to tonight all week, planning every detail down to the wine I knew Jeremy liked—something light, something that wouldn’t feel heavy after a long day at work.

I walk over to the table, adjusting the napkins out of habit, trying to shake off the creeping frustration. We used to do this all the time, quiet nights at home, just the two of us, talking about anything and everything. But now, moments like these feel rare.

The door creaks open, and I hear his keys hit the counter. My heart jumps, and I turn, ready with a smile. But it falters when I see him.

He looks exhausted. Dark circles hang under his eyes, and his shoulders slump as he shrugs off his coat, tossing it carelesslyonto a chair. “Hey,” he mutters, rubbing his face as he walks into the kitchen.

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